


Learning your Language

by MDJensen



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Danny just wants Steve to be happy, Danny's still giving some therapy ideas a go, Family Feels, Gen, Steve's missing Deb and needs his family, The Five Love Languages, birthday feels, cameo by the navy shirt with the little white flowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 12:17:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17446835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MDJensen/pseuds/MDJensen
Summary: Danny makes Steve take a quiz to find out his love language. The result is not what he expected, but Danny tries to speak it anyway. Set mid season 6, a month or two post 6x11 and 6x12.





	Learning your Language

Despite the drama they bring, Loraine, for some reason, still loves them. As everyone departs from their last group circle, she tugs Danny aside and shoves some materials into his hands that apparently not everybody else is being graced with.

As Danny struggles to balance on one foot, Loraine taps the topmost pamphlet. “I think this one, especially, would help the two of you,” she says, voice low, almost conspiratorial. “It’s clear you love each other. But you don’t know the right way to say it.”

The pamphlet she’s so excited about is titled _The Five Love Languages_.

Danny thanks her, and shoves all the material in his bag with the honest intention of reading at least some of it.

Then he falls asleep on the plane back. Then Deb dies. Then Chin and Kono are almost killed, and the next thing Danny knows, it’s been almost a month and he still hasn’t looked at any of it. And come on—if he doesn’t, it’s not like Steve will.

When this occurs to him, it’s actually in a calm, unhurried moment; so he digs out that one pamphlet Loraine was so hot on, and gives it a once-over. Mostly it’s just an advertisement for this guy’s book. But it does also suggest a free online quiz, so he pulls up the website and reads that over.

Apparently there’s specific ways in which one person can express their love to someone else. Five, to be exact. And of course they’re all very nice, but everybody has one that means more to them than the others, and if you know somebody’s primary love language, you can—well. Love them better.

Danny reads over the five of them, wondering which is Steve’s; he’s pretty sure he knows, and it makes his heart ache a little. It’s got to be physical touch. Because Steve McGarrett is the poster boy for not being hugged enough as a child, what with his father being a feelings-adverse alpha male and his mother being a literal secret agent. Nobody can miss how much the guy loves casual contact. In fact that seems like the first part of him that thawed out, after leaving active duty; even in their earliest days he’d go hog wild for a hand on his knee or an arm around his back.

But doing what they’ve always done clearly isn’t enough. Suddenly Danny feels almost negligent, for not knowing Steve’s love language for sure; and even though he can probably guess it, the whole thing feels empty without a conversation to accompany it.

So before he can stop himself, Danny has stalked right into Steve’s office. Steve looks up with a smile.

“Hey.”

“Hey. Lemme get on your computer for a second.”

“What’s wrong with yours?”

“Well, it’s in my office, Steven. And I’m not, so.”

Steve huffs a little, but rolls back in his chair and lets Danny open a new tab and pull up the website.

“What’s that?”

“Quiz you’re gonna take.”

“I know what Disney princess I am. Grace made me take that last week.”

Danny glances up at him, but honestly can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

“That’s not that. It’s something Loraine gave me, and I want you to take it.”

“But what _is_ it?”

“It is a thirty question quiz,” Danny explains, as patiently as he can. “Each equation gives you _two options_ , Steven, of _pleasant things_. And you select which one is _more pleasant_ to you. Does that seem like something you can handle?”

Steve sighs, unimpressed. But he doesn’t protest anymore, just rolls back in front of the computer and, from the look of things, does in fact take the quiz. Danny flops on the couch so as not to read over Steve’s shoulder.

A few minutes pass, silent but for the click of Steve’s mouse; then he pushes back from the computer and stands. “Done,” he announces. “I gotta say, Danno, I really feel like that laid my soul bare. I gotta pee.” And he leaves.

Danny sits in his chair, genuinely curious to see the results—which aren’t even on the screen. Steve’s answered all the questions, but hasn’t bothered to hit the _finish_ button. Clearly the actual quiz didn’t impress him any more than the idea of it did, and Danny feels suddenly kind of silly for pressing so hard. Why is he making an issue of this?

He hits finish. The results pop up.

Wow. Okay. So that’s why.

Because Danny was—wrong. By quite a few questions. _Physical touch_ isn’t first, or even second—it’s third, with 6 points. _Acts of service_ is second, with 7.

And in first place, with 12: _words of affirmation_.

A quick glance over the interpreting your scores blurb tells him that 12 is the maximum score possible in any one category. So, not really much ambiguity here.

He scrolls a little further down and reads the description given.

_Actions don’t always speak louder than words. If this is your love language, unsolicited compliments mean the world to you. Hearing the words, “I love you,” is important— hearing the reasons behind that love sends your spirits skyward. Insults can leave you shattered and are not easily forgotten. You thrive on hearing kind and encouraging words that build you up._

Okay. Wow.

He’s missed the mark a bit, on this one.

Steve’s love language is quite literally _language_ —it makes sense, honestly, because the guy is hopeless at subtly or implication. But this is, like, relevant. Important. Even more than he needs to be hugged, Steve literally needs to be _told_ that he is loved. And honestly? Out of all five of these ways to show someone you love them, that’s probably the one Danny does the least (just ask Melissa).

So, okay. Good to know.

Danny closes out of the results and pushes away from Steve’s desk, feeling overwhelmed, but inspired as well.

*

Steve doesn’t ask about it, and Danny doesn’t offer; just spends the next few days poking around the internet, looking for all the material he can find on words of affirmation (without actually buying the book, because, come on).

Soon he sees his first real chance to put this into action. Grace wins a writing award at school—attagirl, of course she does—and, not feeling like becoming Rachel’s date, Danny brings Steve to the ceremony. It’s in the evening. Steve goes home to shower after work, then lets himself into Danny’ house while Danny is making a quick sandwich in the kitchen.

He looks up as Steve enters, and can’t help but smile.

Because Steve has gotten almost—well, dressed up, for the occasion. The guy doesn’t really have the same spectrum of outfits that most people have; if he’s not in uniform or an actual suit, he’s in cargo pants and a shirt that cost no more than ten dollars. The guy doesn’t really _do_ dressy casual.

Except, apparently, he does. Tonight Steve’s wearing pleated pants, leather shoes, and a shirt Danny hasn’t seen before; it’s cut nicely, out of dark navy fabric with a print of small white flowers.

“Huh,” Danny says, mostly to himself.

“Huh, what?”

“Nice shirt.”

Steve frowns. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Huh? Nothing’s wrong with it, what’s wrong with _you_? I’m not allowed to compliment you, now?”

“Okay, hey!” Steve holds up his hands. “Don’t get defensive. Just, when you have something to say about something I’m wearing, it’s usually not something nice.”

“Well, I happen to actually like that shirt. It’s island-y but still classy. That’s not an easy balance to strike.”

“Thanks? I actually got it for tonight—”

“Oh yeah? Where’s it from?”

And for some reason, Steve scowls again. “I get it, Danno, even the nice Wal-Mart shirts aren’t actually nice—”

“Whoa, hey! I’m—honest to god, I’m not kidding you! I literally like that shirt!” Danny can feel his voice going high, feel himself smiling with 90% good humor and 10% annoyance. “You look handsome, you big lug. And I appreciate that you went and made yourself handsome for your niece’s ceremony. You’re a good uncle, all right?”

And that shuts him up pretty good. “All right.”

“Yeah? Good. Not to mention, of course, that I appreciate you coming in the first place.”

“You ready?” Steve asks, crossing his arms. “I’ll drive, so you can eat on the way.”

“Oh, you’ll drive? That’s so kind of you,” Danny grumbles, wondering, if Steve is so desperate to be spoken to kindly, why the fuck does he make it so _difficult_?

*

Not long after that, Steve gets his head cracked open chasing a perp, because of course he does. Once Chin has successfully tackled the guy, Danny finds Steve, makes him sit, and starts to check him over.

No concussion, or so it seems. That’s good. Steve treats concussions like broken bones—an inconvenience, but a temporary issue—despite modern science making it perfectly clear that one concussion too many can literally debilitate.

A fact that pisses Danny off, even as he crouches on the ground with Steve before him.

The usual script, of course, would go something like this:

_I hate you, you idiot, is there even a fucking brain in there, well you sure act like there isn’t, ‘cause you don’t seem to care how banged around it gets—_

But something stops him; something he’s read a few times now. When speaking Steve’s particular love language, it’s important that you say some things; it’s also important that you _not_ say some things.

Danny knows he can’t hold back forever. Maybe not even for the rest of today, but he can practice holding back in this moment.

He stands from his crouch, knee groaning. “I—”

“Hate me. I know.”

Danny takes a deep breath. Maybe the deepest he’s ever taken, because he tries to inhale until he’s calm, but his lungs run out of space first.

He closes his eyes instead.

“I care about you,” he grits out. “And I worry about you. None of which is unreasonable, by the way.”

“I know.”

“And for the record. For the record, when I say that I hate you—that—that is always what I actually mean.”

Danny opens his eyes.

Steve’s grinning up at him, teeth bright white against the grime covering the rest of his face. “I know, Danno,” he replies.

And despite the circumstances—and despite the amount of blood pouring from the lac on Steve’s forehead—Danny suddenly feels a lot better.

*

It gets easier after that. He’s careful not to overdo it, especially on the compliments, but generally he manages to say something nice to Steve at least once a day. Simple stuff, that slips out easily. He makes note when Steve gets a haircut; tells him he did well on a case; even texts him stupid, funny pictures a few times, just to so Steve knows he’s being thought about, even when they’re not together.

Steve’s got to notice; how could he not? But he doesn’t say anything, and he definitely doesn’t ask if it’s at all connected to the quiz Danny forced him to take.

But here’s the thing. He doesn’t really know if it’s helping. He’s getting better at speaking this language, in his own mind—but what does that matter, if Steve’s not hearing it?

Sometimes he seems to. Danny gets the sense that their friendship has more or less recovered from that awful stretch of time that they somehow became each other’s punching bags instead of each other’s crying shoulders. But still—

Steve himself just seems sad sometimes. In a quiet way, in a soft, untraumatized way; in the way, Danny guesses, that you go about being sad when you’ve just been left by your should-have-been fiancée, and buried the only member of your family who loved you with no strings attached.

It’s not an angry sadness, but Danny feels threatened by it nevertheless.

He’s making dinner, pondering this, when he happens to glance at the calender—and realizes that Steve’s birthday is just around the corner.

Perfect. If ever there were a time to pour loving words on thickly, a birthday is definitely it. He’ll just pick out a nice, gooey card, and—

And what? Danny’s style of birthday card, the 60% of the time that he remembers to get one, comes in two formats: extremely generic or slightly bawdy. And he’s not trying to be insincere, or not himself. That’s not the damn point.

But the thing of it is—he’s not the only one who loves Steve McGarrett.

He finds Grace right where he left her: sitting on the couch, reading her school novel. “Monkey,” he opens, fist-bumping her shoulder.

“Danno.”

“I gotta ask you a favor, okay?”

Grace’s head tilts. “Okay.”

Danny rounds the couch, and perches beside her. “Listen: nothing’s wrong, this is nothing serious, okay?

“Okay.”

“But Uncle Steve—he’s havin’ kind of a hard time, since his aunt died.”

Grace nods, heart in her eyes.

“It’s his birthday next week, and I dunno if you know this, but he really likes cards. Like, I know everybody likes cards, but he _really_ likes cards.”

“Okay?”

“Can you write him one, please? Like, a good one? Mushy as you can make it?”

She laughs. “Yeah, Danno, I can write Uncle Steve a mushy card.”

*

Steve hosts his own birthday, of course. It’s not an egocentric thing; he just honestly loves filling his house with people, with laughter and loudness, and getting them all fed and sitting with them out by the water. Everyone’s there, Grace included. And while it’s much more a general get-together than it is an actual birthday party, there’s a moment in time when a few people foist gifts and cards on Steve, and he grins like a dope and starts opening them immediately.

When he gets to Grace’s card, Danny’s actually kind of nervous.

He doesn’t know what Grace wrote; was curious as hell, of course, but he didn’t want to violate her privacy—or Steve’s privacy—by requesting to read it.

But jeez, it’s gotta be something good. Because after Steve reads it he nods, works his mouth a few times, then goes to Grace and hugs her so fiercely he actually lifts her off the floor. There’s a general cooing from the audience; then the hubbub goes on, unaffected. But Danny catches Steve reading the card again later, eyes full of love and wet around the edges.

It’s well past eleven. Grace is asleep on the couch, and everyone else is gone; the dishwasher’s running in the background.

Steve puts the card down, stands, and goes out to the lanai.

Danny gives him a few minutes to get himself together, trusting that Steve knows he’ll be along soon. No, he doesn’t read the card. Just lounges in Steve’s armchair for a few minutes, watching his daughter sleep, thinking.

Specific love languages are all well and good. But Danny really hopes Steve speaks them all, at least a little—because not everybody knows his preference but so, so many people love him. Chin loves him with birthday hugs. Kono loves him by giving him a dinosaur card that says _Wow I’m Five!_ Lou and Max love him by staying up way past their typical curfews and Jerry loves him with an ancient-looking copy of _The Hobbit_ and Kamekona, of course, loves him with trays of rice and shrimp.

He really hopes Steve can hear it.

Danny stands and heads out to the lanai; finds Steve on the bench, one hand under his chin, the other dangling between his knees. His eyes are open, but Danny can tell he’s not really seeing anything.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Good turnout. Good night.”

“Yeah.”

“You all right?”

Steve nods.

“Thinkin’ ‘bout Deb?”

It’s a moment before Steve replies, though Danny knew the answer even before asking. “You know, she sent me a birthday card every year? Even that—that gap of time, that we weren’t really in touch. Sometimes I’d be off-grid, wouldn’t get it for months. But she always sent one.”

And Danny flashes back to Steve’s birthday a few years ago, the first after Doris disappeared again; it took a fair amount of beer to get Steve to say what was on his mind, but he finally did.

 _I wasn’t expecting a phone call, or anything_ , he’d said. They’d been on the lanai, like now. _But all those resources—she couldn’t’a figured out a way t’send me a postcard? With no return address or something?_

Danny sits beside him, just like he did then. “Deb loved you,” he says, nudging Steve’s shoulder with his own. “A lot. Like, a lot lot.”

“I know.”

“And I love you too, okay? You’re my best friend. Like the kids say, like a title. My Best Friend.”

Steve nods. Covers his eyes and breathes out shakily through his mouth.

“It’s okay,” Danny soothes, as Steve sniffles a few times then swallows, thickly. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“Yeah.” Steve takes his hand away, but doesn’t look up. “I love you, Danno.” And Danny smiles, knowing full well that Steve’s saying it just so Danny himself will say it again.

“I love you, too,” he replies, very willing to oblige, and gets an arm around Steve’s back.

And they sit for a while, with no more words between them; but for now, anyway, Danny thinks he’s said enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all :) Been very disorganized with my writing, lately. I've just got too many things going, and instead of working on either of the longer H50 fics I've got planned, or the second chapter of _Need a Little Christmas Now_ , or this WIP I've left hanging in another fandom... I wrote this instead. Oh well. Just overheard a random conversation about love languages and it gave me Steve feels, what can you do?
> 
> All info re love languages comes from 5lovelanguages.com, with that one block of text describing Steve's language copied directly.


End file.
